The Wildcats
by Damon Lowe
Summary: There's another team of mutants with the same purpose as the X-Men. And when the concentration camps in Poland are reopened to house mutants, the X-Men and the Brotherhood find that they need the warriors who call themselves the Wildcats.
1. The Wildcats

Argh! I swear, I will write a *semi*-decent X-Men fanfic one of these days!! I swear to Stratos! (Let's all hope the Great Gryphon doesn't cheat me out of thie one, too!)  
  
AHCD: Dämon doesn't own X-Men or anything Marvel. At all. Period. The Almighty Horsey Calendar of Doom has spoken.  
  
Me: Self-centered little arse, isn't he? Long live insanity, yo!!!  
  
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^_^ Prologue ^_^  
  
Shadowlion didn't live in New York, never had, never intended to. Too many people. Too much noise. Of course, those were her excuses for not living in *any* actual city her entire life. Rural areas, like farmland, didn't suit her either. For lack of cable. Small towns worked just fine. Although, given the choice, Shadowlion would've gratefully taken her life to Dresden, Ohio, instead of Avon, Indiana. Dresden has hundreds of Longaberger baskets. Ah, sweet heaven!  
  
But, just because Shadowlion hated cities, that didn't mean a vacation to one was entirely out of the question. Her and that weird southerner, Beauregard, were the ones that convinced Beau's mother, aptly named Tiger, to take them to New York. Imagine: stuck on a whole-day roadtrip with an Australian bushranger and a New Orleans prettyboy. Oh yeah. That's definately Hell on Earth if ever that was possible.  
  
Thankfully, *this* particular story isn't meant to tell about Shadowlion and Bladerunner's little misadventures in New York. It's what happened afterward.  
  
^_^ Shortly After the Alkali Lake Incident ^_^  
  
{Reports of flood damage are minor, and Alkali Lake's waters are quickly receding,} evening Channel 13 News anchor, Scott Swan (the white-haired wonder, as Shadowlion often said), reported on the recent devastation of local homes and businesses near Alkali Lake, which had happened only a week before.  
  
"And they found nothing!?" Tiger, now legally Panthera, spat at the television. She cursed under her breath. "Beauregard, turn the damned thing off!"  
  
"Whatever," Beau mumbled, changing the channel back to Saturday morning cartoons on channel 4. "What do you expect them to find? The lab was practically destroyed anyways. What they find will only be considered normal."  
  
"Adamantium is *not* normal, Blade," Panthera scolded, her voice a low, angry hiss. "Especially for what they used it for." She accentuated her remark by showing off her claws, the ones that were just like the ones the man she called Wolverine had. Her claws, as well as Beau's own set, were a constant reminder of their life in the Alkali Lake mutant experimentation facilities, underneath the dam destroyed a week prior.  
  
"Look at the bright side, Tiger," Shadowlion said from the adjoining computer room, "they can't do it again now."  
  
Panthera sighed. Leave it to Shadowlion to look at it that way. The young girl wasn't bred an optimist, but after everything that had happened, starting when they found that half-dead mutant on the shores of the Hudson, her outlook had changed, maybe for better or even for the worse. Panthera found it hard to believe that, after Shadowlion's parents had been murdered and the rest of her family fleeing into exile for their own safety and leaving the thirteen-year-old behind, Shadowlion could look at the bowl as half full. The more she thought about it, the cloudier it became. True, she was nearly like a mother to Shadowlion, and Beauregard the overly-obnoxious older brother the girl hadn't had in the first place. But, they shouldn't have ever been able to replace what Shadowlion had lost upon seeing her parents shot. They could only fill part of that, and even with the addition of that new mutant, Shadowlion should've still seemed . . . distant. It wasn't like that, though. Maybe it was the little demon's way of coping with loss: act like it never happened and move on with your now miserable life.  
  
'Demon,' Panthera thought, stifling a melancholy laugh. 'She may act like one, but calling her one will never help her.'  
  
Although, there was still the chance that Shadowlion's occasionally positive demeanor held some truth. Living in Avon, while seemingly quiet to the normal self-centered, mind-your-own-business, small town human, was a living nightmare for mutants. There was an underworld, a gang, of sorts. The Mutant Hunters. "Old guys with too much beer, too much free-time, and too big guns" as Beau described them. And they were. The Mutant Hunters was a small band made up of about fifty people, mostly men, and mostly drunken hicks. They would often go out and shoot to kill resident mutants and their families. Normal folks didn't know about the Hunters, but God look upon the ignorant *mutant* who didn't know about them! The police never said anything about it either. If any of those "normal folks" found out about the Mutant Hunters, one of two things would happen. One: the Mutant Hunters would gain so many followers in such a short amount of time, the entire mutant population would be run out of Indiana. Mutants counted as the general workforce, too, and if said event was to take place, there would go the Midwest's economy. Right down the drain. Two: there could be a revolt. The police would have bigger problems dealing with protestors than to just keep the whole issue quiet.  
  
Such was the life of a mutant in Indiana. And to the Mutant Hunters, Shadowlion lost her entire family. But, all things considered, her and her friends, Beau, Panthera, and the strange new guy, known to the Hunters as the Bellevue Wildcats, were fairly well-off. The Wildcats were a few scrappy, renegade mutant revolters, bent on bringing down the Hunters, all recruited and led by the scraggiest telepath in the world, the elusive Shadowlion. Their base, if that's what is it to be called, was usually Shadowlion's "abandoned" house. But mostly, the Wildcats received their funding, primitive weaponry, and wicked cool uniforms from an entity known to them as the White Dragon. White Dragon had become mostly a story, more than a real living mutant, considering it was only the Wildcats' heirarchy that ever saw him. And even though Panthera was one of those who saw the man, she still found it hard to believe that the snow-white skinned, demonic-looking man revealed to her, Beau, and Shadowlion as Anton Wagoner, could even possibly exist. The only thing that kept his prescence a truth was the large sums of money he invested into the Wildcats and their warriors.  
  
White Dragon had not approved of Shadowlion's recruiting the strange new mutant, a genius that called himself Toad. But, even though White Dragon knew full well how brash and sporadic young Shadowlion could be in her decisions, she often made near perfect choices on recruits, even though Toad had recently revealed his prior job working for the Brotherhood, the one union that challenged White Dragon, Shadowlion, and their Wildcats. White Dragon found it hard this time, though, no matter how often he noticed the caring way Shadowlion regarded Toad, to accept the new recruit willingly. The old German balked when Beau delivered the news that Toad was officially with the Wildcats, and very nearly threatened to cut funding.  
  
Oh, but that wouldn't've served *Anton's* purpose at all. The Wildcats were his ticket back to the top, his one way to get back the power and supremecy he and his family had lost in 1945. They were his new army, his new Reich, and his one and only chance to fly the Swastika above New York someday. Problem was, Shadowlion had quickly discovered Anton's purpose for funding and supporting the Wildcats. That was where he lost much of his future power. Shadowlion wanted a cut. If the country was to be won by the Wildcats, it was to belong to their leader. Anton would have his Reich. There was no doubt about that. But Shadowlion would never give up her one chance to prove that mutants weren't evil, even if it meant decreeing it as a law to make the two factions, human and mutant, live in peace. Of course, she sadly realized that a thirteen-year-old would make a poor world dictator, and gave up much of her possible rule back to Anton. But never all of it.  
  
"Panthera," Shadowlion continued, "you realize it will do you no good to hide your thoughts from me. I've been called 'demon' for a long time, even by Ant- White Dragon himself. Imagine that. My name is, if you'll remember, Dämon. And you'll remember that Dämon *does* in fact mean Demon in German."  
  
"Courtesy White Dragon the Heartless," Panthera snapped back. "He's cold and unfeeling, Shadowlion, that's why he calls you that. He doesn't realize he's actually insulting you, mate. *He's* the demon!"  
  
Shadowlion snorted. "He's not completely heartless! He has a son and a daughter, Panthera, and a grandson even, that he would do anything for. And he'd do anything for us. He deserves the title 'The Heartless' as much as I deserve the name 'Dämon'. You know that as well as any of us." Shadowlion entered the living room with her painful-looking, four-legged gait. That oh- so-painful-looking gait was, however, what made her name Shadow*lion*. It was part of her mutation. Shadowlion was, essentially, a throwback. Her skeletal system was incredibly primitive: her spine attached to the back of her skull, instead of the base of it, making her capable of her trademark lion-walk. Standing up straight like a normal human was the problem.  
  
She stopped to stare out at her backyard. Her plain, normal-looking backyard. There was the quaint little light blue and black shed, the dog kennels, and the giant trampoline, all enclosed in a pretty six-foot-tall cedar privacy fence. From the looks of it, there was nothing unique about it or the house. But, underneath that dark green Kentucky Bluegrass, was a military base that would make the CIA envious. The base that housed the elite fighters of the Wildcats Reich, the ancient Egyptian weaponry Anton was famous for, and the fleet of modified jets, planes, and Blackhawk and Apache helicopters.  
  
The Wildcats Air Force. That was a force to be reckoned with. Every plane, from the World War Two Mitsubishi Zero's equipped with jet engines, to the modern F-18 Fighting Falcons with stealth technology, every single aircraft capable of vertical take-off and landing, was the Wildcats pride. The most powerful of the jets being Shadowlion's modified Mitsubishi Zero, Spike. That plane had everything: stealth technology, homing missiles, smart bombs, two seperate machine guns, and a jet engine that made it capable of attaining a maximum speed of Mach three. Spike was the fleet's engineer, Anton's son, Aryan's, greatest achievement. And Aryan promised never to design and build a plane as destructive as Spike ever again, for the safety of the world.  
  
Shadowlion layed down, her legs stretched out behind her and her arms curled up in front of her, like a lion. She casually watched Anton's German shepherd, Rätsel, restlessly pace his kennel. "When're Mortimer and DeSoto coming back?"  
  
"Lord knows," Beau mumbled, half asleep and ready to call it a day, even though he hadn't moved an inch since nine o'clock that morning. "It's Saturday afternoon, on a holiday weekend. I doubt Meijer's is a ghost town today."  
  
"Holiday weekend, huh? Which holiday?"  
  
"Independence Day, Shadow," replied Panthera in an annoyed tone. "Get with the program, mate. You've lived here for nearly as long as we have. I would *think* you would know your holidays by now!"  
  
"Tiger," Shadowlion said, exasperated, "we're cut off from the public! We can't go out there for fear of being shot! It's a wonder we even know which movies are showing at the Regal up the freakin' road!"  
  
"We *do* have cable, y'know," Beau sniffed disdainfully.  
  
"Oh yeah! It all makes sense now, Shadow!" Panthera moved as though she was going to jump across the room and strangle Shadowlion. "We can't go out there because those rednecks might shoot us up, 'cause we're freaks! Right? Well then why the hell did we send Toad and Águila out to the local supermarket?"  
  
"Because they volunteered, Panthera," said Shadowlion smugly.  
  
"Águila has bright red wings," Panthera said flatly, "and Toad has that greenish complexion. A kid with cardinal wings and a--"  
  
"Okay, so maybe DeSoto, or any of the Diego's, wasn't the greatest candidate. But Mortimer, what's wrong with him? I mean, look at Zachary Armentrout. He had that weird grayish complexion and all anybody ever said to *him* was 'Why do you always got a black eye' !"  
  
"Everybody still hated Armentrout," Beau interjected evenly.  
  
Nobody bothered to argue with Beau; he had made a logical point. Nobody had the chance either. A winged boy dropped down in front of the sliding glass door, and Shadowlion leaped back, startled.  
  
"Águila!" Shadowlion roared, angrily unlocking the door and yanking the little nine-year-old boy in.  
  
"Soy arrepentido, Señoritas Löwe," DeSoto said quickly, bowing slightly. "Pe- Perdí . . . "  
  
"What did you lose, DeSoto?" Beau asked patiently.  
  
"Mortimer, señor," mumbled DeSoto. "Soy arrepentido. Soy *muy* arrepentido. Realmente. ¿Me perdonará usted?"  
  
"Well? What did he say, Beau?" Panthera asked cheerfully.  
  
"He says he's sorry. It seems him and Mortimer got seperated somehow," Beau said, confused. He glared at his mother for the gleeful look she had on her face, then looked patiently to DeSoto. "Alright now, DeSoto, where do you last remember seeing Mortimer?"  
  
"Uh--"  
  
"En el inglés, por favor," Shadowlion growled.  
  
"Sí. Last remember . . . when we crossed Rockville . . . there was a big crowd . . ." DeSoto paused, trying to set his thoughts in order, and then translate them to English. "We tried to go through the crowd, but . . . when I get to Cazuela's, Mortimer is gone!"  
  
"Great," Shadowlion said frantically, "he's wandering around Avon somewhere without any idea where Austin Lakes is! Águila! Why didn't you try to find him?"  
  
"I try!" DeSoto cried. "Believe me, I try! But he was nowhere near Regal. Knew one of you could help. Or maybe my father?"  
  
"Azul-Halcón is busy, Águila," said Panthera. "Shadow? You can help, right? I know you've been dying to get out and see the town again."  
  
"White Dragon wouldn--"  
  
"Who cares?! It's not like there's a bloody law against going out in public!"  
  
"Australians scare me," Shadowlion whispered to herself. "All right, if you insist. I go solo, though, got it? The 'Spanish Wonder' here can stay with you guys."  
  
"I don't know--" Beau sat up, but didn't bother to finish what he was going to say, because he knew it would be pointless to argue with Shadowlion. That was the wonder about Beauregard. Both of his parents were known for liking to fight and argue, but Beau avoided confrontation like the plague, electing to smooth-talk his way out of a bad situation rather than shred somebody, even though he was more than capable of doing it. He nodded towards DeSoto and the boy trudged dejectedly to the closet door under the stairs which led to the Wildcats' underground compound. "There's the walk of a confused cardinal," Beau said, waiting for his mother to hit him for being philisophical again. The blow never came, thank God.  
  
Shadowlion didn't bother to contradict him either. She bounded up the stairs to the second floor, where four nice, decent sized bedrooms were. The four bedrooms were reserved for the two leaders, and any two members of their chosing. Panthera chose to have her son sleep in one of those bedrooms, but Shadowlion didn't necessarily like anybody, even if they risked their lives to fight for her Reich. So, the other west-side bedroom sat vacant since the establishment of the Wildcat Reich. Until after her and Beau's trip to New York. After that, Toad occupied the final room, angering many of the senior officers that believed they deserved a topside room more than some new recruit. But arguing with Shadowlion over her choice of favorites was likely to get you thrown out of a plane somewhere in the Yukon.  
  
In Shadowlion's room, there hung several posters for Disney's "The Lion King" and a flag for the IUPUI Jaguars, along with her prize bow and the rusty iron tent pole she enjoyed using in a fight on occasion. Hanging from the top shelf of her dresser were nearly a quarter dozen crosses, all different styles and given to her by a quarter dozen different people. On the bookshelves framing her white whicker desk was her Mitsubishi Zero model, her boom box, and her alphabetized CD collection. In one corner of the room, in a glass case, were a pair of black panther paws, modified and rigged with steel-titanium braces and adamantium, retractable claws. They were sized to fit Shadowlion's own hands as tight as leather gloves, function as weapons, and support Shadowlion's lion-like gait. Once they were on, her hands were useless as actual hands. But the paws that they became were more deadly than anything her own human hands were capable of.  
  
These were slipped on quickly and Shadowlion left, leaving through the back door downstairs without a word to Beau or Panthera. Beau glanced over at Panthera.  
  
"I have nothing to say, except what Anton said: 'She is Puma's great- granddaughter.' ~You~ figure it out," Panthera said.  
  
The gate to Shadowlion's backyard was triple-locked: a basic bolt, a combination lock, and a padlock with a well-hidden key - Shadowlion's claws. Her claws, as well as Panthera's and Beauregard's, were excellent lock picks, meaning that the need for a key was nonexistent. They were the only three in the town able to open that door, unless someone intended on blowing it up.  
  
Locking it again from the outside, however, was impossible. Somebody from inside the compound would have to come out and lock it again. That somebody was whoever was monitoring the surveillance cameras and area scans, if they were awake.  
  
Shadowlion made certain the nobody else in the surrounding houses had decided to be out in their backyard. Luckily, this neighborhood wasn't exactly the stereotypical All-American neighborhood that is shown on television, and most people were content to sit in their La-Z-Boys with a bowl of nachos watching Nascar. In other words: nobody was outside. Passing by Sandy's yard was a different story. The scraggly, tawny dog rushed at her, baying and snarling. Sandy attempted to jump the fence, but thankfully came short, and resorted to jumping up and down on her own side.  
  
"Shut up!" Shadowlion spat, trying not to be loud enough to catch her neighbors' attention.  
  
Not wanting Sandy's barking to alert her owners, Shadowlion slunk off, walking down the easement between the houses on her own street and the houses on the cauldesac behind them. She finally reached the property line between her ex-friend's old house and his neighbors; in front of her lay a street, another line of houses, then a broad line of trees. Hoping against all her family's damned bad luck, Shadowlion sprinted across the street, not stopping until she reached the trees. She relaxed her caution a bit, and proceeded to follow the long line of trees that would eventually take her out to Rockville Road, the main thoroughfare for Avon, and the widest and busiest road in the town. Hard to cross inconspicuously. That was when the danger really started. The chances of her getting caught were nearly tripled. And if she somehow managed to find Toad, then she would have to make it all the way back with him.  
  
"Life sucks, man," Shadowlion said to herself. She made no noise walking in between the trees. It wasn't as though any ~human~ could've heard her; it was the horses in the field on the opposite side of the treeline from Austin Lakes. They would most likely sense a feline presence should Shadowlion happen to make a noise and get their attention. She like the horses, though, even if they were a threat to her. Shadowlion had always loved horses, and she was thrilled to death when Anton presented her with a beautiful black Holstein stallion she named Angel. Angel was one of Anton's strange genetic experiments with animals: incorporating the mutant gene into an animal's DNA. The stallion was one of few successful experiments. Ironically, Angel's mutation were his giant falcon wings, his fire-colored mane and tail, and his ability to speak. Angel was considered one of the Wildcats, and was given the codename "Pegasus". Shadowlion had wanted to have Pegasus fly her to the Regal Cinemas down the road, but that would've attracted some unhealthy attention. "And if the humans didn't kill me, Anton would, and Angel would end up in a glue factory."  
  
"Oh I would, would I?" said a multi-pitched voice that reminded Shadowlion of Shaggy off the cartoon "Scooby-Doo".  
  
Shadowlion stopped and looked into the horse paddock. There wasn't the usual two or three gray mares, but Pegasus, head high and wings clamped tight to his sides. His position looked incredibly painful. The stallion trotted towards the paddock's fence in a bouncy parody of the Spanish high- step. Pegasus was a ridiculous animal, even if he was beautiful.  
  
"Alright, Black Beauty, what're you doin' here?" Shadowlion asked in an exasperated tone.  
  
"DeSoto said you were going out to find the new guy again, man! I came to, like, bring you back. Anton says--"  
  
"Grr . . . damn Anton! And all his stupid rules!" Shadowlion snapped.  
  
"Uhm--"  
  
"Go home, Angel. Now. Haddaway hyem!"  
  
Pegasus hung his head and nickered softly. Shadowlion only literally said "haddaway" to him when she was angry with him, and he couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. "But . . . I wanted to help you, man. Anton told me to bring you back, but I, like, wanted to go on a mission! Just for once. We haven't done anything actually exciting since the first news of Alkali Lake came to Indiana," Pegasus whispered ruefully. He looked up with big, brown, puppy dog eyes. "Please?"  
  
Shadowlion sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't go out of your way to attract attention. No loud talking, no showing off you wings . . ."  
  
" . . . and don't make faces at the little kids," Pegasus finished. "Yes, I know. But at least let me fly you to Regal. It will be a lot quicker and I promise after that I won't be any trouble." His long face brightened as he smiled wide. "Pleeeeeease?" he said in a cheesy voice.  
  
"I can't win with you, can I?" Shadowlion shook her head in defeat. "Alright. We'll fly." She climbed over the barbed wire fence, trying not to tear her clothes on the barbs. Pegasus knelt down so Shadowlion could climb on his back since it was Wildcats code to ride bareback (for reasons not even Anton knew). He backed up, making strange noises like a school bus in reverse. When he reached an area clear of trees and fences, he snapped open his wings and flapped them a few times to stretch them, then leaped straight up into the air, flapping furiously to gain altitude before the paddock's owner came out and tried to shoot the "abomination". Pegasus' wings, no matter how large they were, were like a falcon's, which meant he was incredibly fast. He spiraled into the clear sky, circling for height. Shadowlion clutched his mane and laid as flat as she could, waiting for the moment when the stallion would go into his distance-eating dive. She wasn't frightened of the Holstein's strange flying manuevers, but she knew what the consequences would be if she didn't hang on.  
  
As Pegasus tilted into a dive, Shadowlion looked up ahead of them at the movie theater on the other side of town, and prayed and hoped that her and her horse would be able to find Toad before the mutant hunters did. "Oh gods. Stratos help us if they should ever find him." He eyes narrowed. "Stratos help ~them~ should they ever find him."  
  
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That's it! I am uploading this immediately, so I can't delete it! Mwahahaha! I am smarter than . . . ME! 


	2. The Underground

Alrighty, folks, uh . . . what was I doing? Oh right! First, reviews!  
  
Little Took: Go Hoosiers!! Oh cool, I didn't think there was any other authors from Indiana beside KT Ichijouji and me on this site! I can't say I've been to your city. The only southern town I've been to is Nashville, Indiana, and Seymour, Indiana. Oh yeah, and Bedford! As everyone's probably already figured out, I'm from . . . well, Indianapolis, but I live in Avon. Anyways, thanks for reviewing!  
  
Blue Dragon Git: Thank you thank you for thinking my characters are cool! Especially Pegasus, considering I thought him up in, like, a minute specifically for this story. I hate to tell ya, though, but he doesn't have a major role in the story. He's just the guy that provides the not-needed commentary. Long live comic relief in the form of talking horses!  
  
AHCD: Yes, talking horses seems to be an obsession with you, doesn't it. I'm not the comic relief! I'm just the guy that does the disclaimers. Hey, it's got great pay! No not really. La-dee-dah. Dämon doesn't own X-Men, but she ~does~ own my brother, Pegasus. And all the other Wildcats! Mwahahahaha!  
  
[Ben Stein voice] Wow . . . Almighty Horsey Calendar of Doom has a brother.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Y'know, Shadow, it's not exactly ~easy~ to find ~one~ guy in an entire town," Pegasus complained, glaring down at the masses congregating in the parking lot of Regal Cinemas. "This has got to be, like, the most impossible mission in the history of--"  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Hm?  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Rokay . . ."  
  
"And no Scooby-Doo impressions! That's Rätsel's job."  
  
"Yeah, I know. But isn't that, like, why Anton likes that stupid dog so much?" Pegasus grinned smugly, watching Shadowlion out of the corner of his eye. Shadowlion didn't appear annoyed or angry with the stallion. In fact, her face was completely devoid of emotion. "So much for no therapy, man. You need it, like, more than ever!" His pitch rose at the end of the sentence as it melted into a short, nervous laugh. "Dude, like, what is ~with~ you today? It's like the lights are on but nobody's home!"  
  
Shadowlion shook her head. "The Fog's back, Angel," she whispered sadly.  
  
"Oh no. No, Shadow, not again. The Fog's gone for good, okay, man? Shadow, listen to my voice! Shadow!" Pegasus' voice was beginning to sound frantic. "Shadow?" he whispered. 'Oh, man, we've gotta find Toad! Now were the hell is that slimeball?!' Pegasus' hawk-like gaze swept across the empty lots, alleyways, and office parks.  
  
The Fog, as Shadowlion had always called it, was a clouding of her mind. It was almost like a seizure, but not as dangerous. The clouding was a flashback, when Shadowlion would practically relive her parents' death. It ended quickly, but the haze in her mind that blocked all sight and sound remained. All she would hear was a melancholy song, like a feline version of a wolf's howl, inside her mind. The song held a voice. The Voice, the Song, was what guided the Wildcats in everything. The Song was the reason Shadowlion was the Wildcats' leader. Eventually, after listening to it, or if someone else managed to "wake" her, Shadowlion's vision and hearing would clear, and she would be back to normal. Sometimes, if she listened long enough, a feline shadow would form in the Fog, and the Voice would become louder and clearer. The way Anton tried to explain it, the shadow and the Voice belonged to the one relative Shadowlion had that had not yet deserted her . . . because he couldn't: her great-grandfather, Puma.  
  
Much to Shadowlion's dismay and sadness, the Song slowly drifted away from her after a while, after Panthera and Beau had woken her from it too many times. It had been two and a half weeks since Shadowlion had last heard the Song. Some of the Wildcats saw this as a blessing, a sign that they were now being led by a wide-awake, living mutant, instead of a half-awake mutant listening to the voice of a dead mutant. Others knew it would bring more harm than good.  
  
Pegasus circled high above the Shiloh office park, carefully watching Shadowlion, waiting for the moment when her eyes wouldn't seem to be looking inside instead of out.  
  
After a moment, the girl blinked, her eyes cleared and she stared at Pegasus with mixed emotions. "What did Puma say, Shadow?" Pegasus asked quietly.  
  
Shadowlion looked about the office park, and sharply pointed at a small alleyway between two wings of one of the buildings. "There! Puma says Mortimer's down there!"  
  
Pegasus looked hard at the spot where Shadowlion was pointing, and sure enough, there sat Toad, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. That or just plain lost. "Damn! Smart dead dude! Alright!" The Holstein tilted down and went into another dive, this one slightly slower and more controlled than the last. He crashed to the ground heavily on first his front two hooves than his back two. Shadowlion nearly fell off his back even before he had completely landed as she tried to get to Toad before he freaked out and tried to whack the poor horse.  
  
Shadowlion fell into Toad's arms before he even knew what was happening. "What the hell? How did--"  
  
"Thank the gods!" Shadowlion cried, squeezing Toad and forgetting to mind her claws.  
  
"How did you find me? I thought I'd lost that damn bird!"  
  
"'That damn bird' is the only reason somebody with a brain came looking for you! How did you two get seperated?" Shadowlion glared at Toad, who was in turn glaring at Pegasus. The stallion was prancing about with a wide smile on his face.  
  
"The bloody little coward got knocked down in a crowd and then ran off. He was afraid he'd get stepped on, so he left me out here and went home! You ought to clip his wings and teach him how to walk right," Toad spat. "And just for the record, I refuse to go anywhere else with him." He crossed his arms and grinned slyly when Shadowlion rolled her eyes in exasperation.  
  
"Freakin' vulture! He said he'd looked everywhere for you! No wonder he had no idea where you were," growled Shadowlion. "Better yet, I'll bind his wings and cut that greasy hair of his. I'll have Beau cut it -- he does such a hack job with his own hair . . ."  
  
"Great, great. Now, get off me."  
  
"Huh?" Shadowlion was in such a euphoria at having the Song back she hadn't paid much attention to what she was doing. She now sat straddling Toad with her "paws" held up, much like a cat does. "Oh . . . Sorry." She jumped backwards and sat up like one of the circus tigers. "So, you fly, doncha?" Shadowlion pointed at Pegasus, who immediately straightened and stood like a statue.  
  
"He doesn't do loops or barrel rolls or anything, does he?"  
  
"Not unless I tell him to. He's not a show flyer, man, chill out. He can fly slow," replied Shadowlion coyly, "if yer nothin' but a femmer chicken!" Pegasus did his chicken impression, clucking and squawking like a chicken with emphysema or something.  
  
"Femmer, huh? How do you know Geordie?"  
  
"I read books . . ." Shadowlion swatted Pegasus to get him to shut up and kneel down. She swung her left leg over and sat patiently, waiting for Toad to make up his mind. "Chicken."  
  
Toad hesitated, but refused to allow himself to be called a chicken again. Still, he halted a moment before climbing on the stallion's back behind Shadowlion. "I'm no chicken," he whispered in Shadowlion's ear.  
  
She grinned back and discreetly tapped Pegasus three times on the neck. Without a warning, the giant horse shot into the air, spiraling as fast as he could. He neighed loudly until Shadowlion cuffed him for creating such a raucous. Pegasus went up faster and faster until he was nearly six stories above the ground, then he turned into a dive, tilting back up at about two stories from the ground, and finally leveling off at somewhere in between one to two miles up. Toad, not caring for anything but his life after that, was still clinging to Shadowlion, who let out a loud roar. "Who's no chicken?"  
  
"B-gawk!" shrieked Pegasus.  
  
"Don't . . . do that . . . again," Toad gasped.  
  
"You can let go of me now, chicken-man," Shadowlion said.  
  
"And let this damn horse drop me to the pavement!? I don't intend on becoming road-kill just yet!"  
  
"You wouldn't be road-kill, man," replied Pegasus. "You would be, like, a highway pancake. You'd be dead before the first car came anywhere near you!"  
  
"Thanks. I feel loved now," Toad muttered.  
  
"No worries, hun. You are," laughed Shadowlion. "No doubt Anton already knows I left, which means we'll be dragged all the way to Weiß Drache to hear a good lecture from him."  
  
"Anton?"  
  
Pegasus glanced over his shoulder nervously to see how Shadowlion would handle this situation. The thing of it was: only Beau, Panthera, Shadowlion, Pegasus, and Anton's son and daughter, Aryan and Sabine, knew who the enigmatic White Dragon really was. And they were the only ones that were supposed to know.  
  
"Well, you've heard of the White Dragon, right? The White Dragon is a mutant, a teleporter, named Anton Wagoner, from ancient Egypt. He was also the commanding officer at . . . at Auschwitz-Birkenau in World War Two."  
  
"You mean to tell me we're led by a damn Nazi!? How ironic."  
  
"That's why White Dragon didn't like you. He remembers Eric Lehnsherr. You called him Magneto, right? Well, Lehnsherr was pretty much the reason Anton nearly got thrown out of the Reich. Anton felt so sorry for the boy. He may be a Nazi, but he's not black-hearted and completely cold-blooded. Anton and Lehnsherr . . . they became such good friends it--" Shadowlion stopped herself, because her voice was slowly fading into nothing. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Anton couldn't stand to see his friend, especially just a boy, in so much pain and agony, so . . . he set him free. Anton helped Lehnsherr to escape Auschwitz, and got him a passport, to board the first ship out of Europe bound for America. So that's why he ended up here.  
  
"And recently, with all the crap in the news about Lehnsherr in that prison, and then mysteriously vanishing . . . Anton's worried. He realizes the mistake he made in releasing Lehnsherr. He thinks it's all his fault, no matter what any of us tell him. He's afraid . . . of you. He's afraid that Lehnsherr will come looking for you, and finally find him, after all these years."  
  
"But why would Anton be afraid of Magneto? If what you say is true, then Magneto owes Anton his life!"  
  
"Yeah, man, but Lehnsherr didn't always think that way," Pegasus said. "Uh- oh. Oh that's not good. Look down."  
  
Shadowlion looked down, and Toad forced himself to, and down in Shadowlion's backyard ("We're already here?" Shadowlion asked) was Beau, holding DeSoto by what seemed to be his neck. Pegasus slowly lowered himself down, making a much more graceful landing than before.  
  
"What's going on, Beauregard?" Shadowlion demanded, waiting for Toad to get off the horse first so she could climb down.  
  
"White Dragon wishes to see you."  
  
"Oh great," snapped Shadowlion, dropping to the ground. "I'm in trouble for somethin', aren't I?"  
  
"Says he wants to see Toad, too," Beau continued, ignoring Shadowlion completely.  
  
"Alright, whatever, man. If the Almighty Dragon wishes to see me, then so be it. Almighty Royal Pain-in-the-Ass is more like it."  
  
Beau rolled his eyes and began shoving DeSoto towards the shed, another way into the underground network. There was one tunnel in the Underground which led to a mansion not far south from Austin Lakes. The mansion was Anton's own Weiß Drache, which was, ironically, German for White Dragon. Pegasus walked towards the back of the enclosed yard, watching Shadowlion, who was unceremoniously yanking Toad along in her wake, sadly. He nickered softly, but Shadowlion didn't hear him. The shed itself looked harmless: painted black with gold trim with a giant Oriole painted on the north side of it. The Oriole was Anton's work, and it was a "stunning work of art" as Sabine said once. On the south side was an African lion, "the likeness of Shadowlion's great-grandfather" Anton had told everyone. Puma was an icon to the Wildcats, their idol, and to some, a god. He was their leader, in a distant, twisted sort of way. The giant white lion with the golden mane and turquoise blue eyes. Sadly, the Wagoner's were the only ones to ever know Puma.  
  
Inside the shed, it was empty, except for the ancient Egyptian heiroglyphics on the wall, telling the story of the Anubis Ring and the Soul-Reaver Pike, weapons said to once belong to the ancient Egyptian god of Death, Anubis. The Ring and the Pike were now showcased underneath Weiß Drache.  
  
The Ring was said to have a magic which would make a mutant lose their powers for as long as they wore it. Their appearances wouldn't change, but their powers just wouldn't work. Anton couldn't teleport, Beau and Panthera couldn't use their claws, and Sabine couldn't shapeshift (a power inherited from her mother). It was sometimes comical, expecially when one of the other recruits wore it for one day. "A friend of Beauregard's from New Orleans" was all anyone could get out of Panthera before he arrived. This "friend" turned out to be a thief from the French Quarter named Remy LeBeau. During the Alkali Lake incident, Remy's powers had been exposed, and he was forced to run. Lucky for him Beau still cared enough to come back to New Orleans to look for him. Remy's second day, Anton tricked him into wearing the Anubis Ring, knowing full well that Remy would try to make a run for it with the Ring. "A thief is a thief," Anton had told Beau. "Now watch." Sure enough, Remy ran. And the Hunters found him. With the Ring on, though, he couldn't use his powers. Before he got shot, Anton came and saved his sorry hide, strangling one of the Hunters to death in the process. "Now you know," Anton had said to Remy, "that we're ~always~ watching you. And nothing - ~nothing~ - is worth stealing from the Wildcats."  
  
The Soul-Reaver Pike was a deadly weapon that Anton allowed no one to use except himself. The story told the anyone stabbed with the Pike would lose his soul to the weapon. With each soul the weapon became stronger, and harder to properly control, which was why even Anton refused to use it. There was a joke that the older Wildcats told the children as a way to make them behave, that unless you're good, Anton will steal your soul with the Pike. A sick, mean, evil joke, yes, but it worked. There were few troublemakers in the Wildcats, and they were Beau, Remy, Shadowlion, and Toad anyways.  
  
In the floor of the shed was a large trapdoor nearly the size of the entire 11' x 13' construction. With Toad's help, Beau swung the door up and latched it to a hook on the wall to keep it from slamming shut. You got hit on the head with that door, you were out for a good five or six hours. Under the trapdoor was a staircase, which was designed to resemble the Grand Staircase in the Titanic.  
  
The staircase opened up into a large room. There were modern paintings, done by Anton himself, of Anubis, Seth, Horus, and Bastet on every wall, and the room was lit by torches. There was a wide doorway on the opposite side of the room flanked by a statue of Anubis on the left and Bastet on the right. The Anubis Statue held a replica of the Soul-Reaver Pike and Bastet held out a replica of the Anubis Ring on a golden chain. There was a long, dead-end hallway leading back from the doorway. At the end, on the left side, was a lift, which went down to the lower levels of the Underground, and on the right, another, smaller staircase. At the bottom of this staircase was a network of tunnels leading to all different locations in Avon, the largest of which led to Weiß Drache. This was the route which Beau, Shadowlion, Toad, and DeSoto took. Just before they began to descend the second staircase, they ran into - though not literally - Remy, who had just come from the broad "Weiß Drache" tunnel, which everyone called the Matrix, after the mutant who had designed the underground.  
  
"He's not happy, monsieur," Remy said to Beau.  
  
"Lovely. And let me guess, you've been promoted to garçon de message?" Beau grinned evilly. His three companions looked from one to the other, trying to see if any of them knew French.  
  
"Non, Beau, I'm still a recruit. But," Remy said spitefully, then he brightened, "I get to be trained personally by An- White Dragon." He looked up to see if Toad or DeSoto had caught his slight. Toad had, but DeSoto was stupid.  
  
"Whatever," Shadowlion muttered. She shoved DeSoto. "Let's go Bobo."  
  
"Do not call me 'Bobo', por favor," DeSoto said meekly.  
  
"Obnoxious wuss," spat Beau. He grabbed DeSoto's shirt collar and shoved him hard. The boy stumbled down a few steps before tripping and somersaulting the rest of the way into the darkness at the bottom of the staircase. "Whoops."  
  
Everybody laughed. DeSoto was the only one they could pick on without having Anton yelling at them for it. Anton never liked children, and DeSoto least of all. If his father, DeLito Diego, hadn't been such a good friend of Anton's, DeSoto would've been kicked to the curb ages ago.  
  
"Maybe I should warn you," said Remy as Shadowlion and Toad passed him, "that there are torches missing from the Matrix."  
  
"Missing?" Beau asked, continuing on down the stairs behind Shadowlion and Toad, with Remy right beside him. "How could torches be missing?"  
  
Remy shrugged. "If only I knew--"  
  
Shadowlion was giving him a strange look again and Remy couldn't tell whether it was because she thought he had something to do with the stolen torches, or she was just enthralled by his accent again, which was obviously stronger than Beauregard's.  
  
"I had nothing do to with it," Remy said defensively. "Do you honestly think I am the only Wildcat that steals, chère?"  
  
Shadowlion felt like she was melting, and forced herself to turn away from Remy and ignore him. The last time she listened to him, she looked like a lovesick puppy dog, and Panthera nearly backhanded her for it, too. Not to say Panthera didn't react the same way to Remy's voice and looks, but she had a horrible habit of hiding her emotions, especially in front of Remy. "She fancies him," Matrix, the thirteen-year-old who had designed the Underground, had said to Shadowlion on Remy's second day. When Anton had finally brought him back, Panthera was fauning all over Remy, and shouting at Anton for letting him get hurt, even though he only had a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises from trying to run from the Hunters. Anton didn't bother to argue; he knew better than to argue with an angry mother - Panthera most of all - even if Remy was only her son's friend.  
  
To keep her mind from wandering back to Remy, Shadowlion instead tried to concentrate on Matrix. The boy himself was strange: five feet four inches tall, barely one hundred and fifteen pounds, long black hair and brown eyes. His eyes weren't normal, no matter what some of you may think. If you made eye contact with him, he would automatically be able to tell you your life story, give a list of every friend you've ever had, and name off every Christmas present you ever got and what year you got it in. That was his power, that and his super-intelligence. Matrix was only thirteen, yet he was almost as smart as Eintsein was. Matrix was, by ethnicity and looks, Japanese. That was why Shadowlion had bee attracted to him in the first place: he was Oriental. She always liked the Oriental. But Matrix was actually from London. A ~very~ strange child.  
  
Shadowlion hadn't even noticed that they'd made it to the bottom of the stairs and were now walking along the Matrix itself. The walls were lined with torches and painted with images of Puma, Anton and his brother Anubis, and Bastet fighting the Egyptian god of destruction and plague, Seth. It was meant to be a story, but because of the Matrix's design, Shadowlion and her friends were reading the story backwards.  
  
Toad and DeSoto couldn't remember how long they walked, although the others had made the trip to Weiß Drache several times. The Matrix seemed endless, and monotonous. A few times, they passed other Wildcats. They all shrunk away from Shadowlion, and the girls and women would stop to gawk at poor Remy. There was one stretch of the Matrix which was unreasonably dark, and DeSoto accidently ran into a wall.  
  
"Finally," Shadowlion hissed, shoving DeSoto to the ground behind her and yanking on something silver which glinted in the distant torchlight. With a loud creaking and a rush of wind, a broad door was opened. There appeared to be a throne room on the other side, which was exactly what it was. They had entered a side-door. Running the length of the room was an emerald green rug with a white, Japanese-style dragon embroidered on it. DeSoto was the only one to hesitate, so Beau dragged him in by his wrists.  
  
"Beauregard, let the boy walk," said a man sitting on a silver jackal bench similar to Tutankhamen's lion throne. The man's skin was so pale it was pure white, his hair was a beautiful golden blonde, and his eyes a chrome yellow. He raised a two-fingered hand as a sign for Shadowlion and her friends to stop. When DeSoto was shoved up beside Toad, the man's eyes narrowed and his long, forked tail lashed angrily. "DeSoto, can't you do anything right?"  
  
"White D-dragon, s-s-señor, soy arrepentido, s-señor," DeSoto stuttered, vaguely noticing how the man, Anton, shifted position as if to lunge at him and strangle him to death. Or worse: steal his soul. The boy's eyes darted to the Soul-Reaver Pike which Anton had reached for.  
  
"What? You think I would waste my brother's magic Pike on you?" Anton hissed callously. "Herr DeSoto, I don't care if your father's a friend of mine. You're not getting out of a punishment this time." DeSoto squeaked. "But, I ~will~ be kind enough to let Dämon and Mortimer decide your punishment." He laughed cruelly, watching as DeSoto's eyes grew wide. But, in the middle of his laugh, somebody from behind him flicked him in the ear.  
  
"I don't think so, Anton," Panthera said, circling around the bench to stare down at Anton. "Shadowlion will ask for him to be killed and--"  
  
"S'il vous plaît, chère," Remy interrupted, "let Anton do as he pleases. Don't interfere."  
  
Panthera looked at Remy with disbelief, then glared at Anton. "Whatever brainwash technique you used on him I'll--" Anton held up his hand again to silence Panthera.  
  
"Dämon, bitte, say something before she cuts my head off."  
  
"Alright . . . I already know," said Shadowlion slyly. "Bind his wings for two weeks . . ." She listened, pleased with herself, as DeSoto released the breath he'd been holding. " . . . and make him work with Matrix for that time . . . " DeSoto made a choking noise. " . . . and have Beau cut off that hair of his."  
  
At that, DeSoto squealed, "No! Not my hair, Señoritas Shadowlion! Anything but!"  
  
"We can clip his wings," Anton said.  
  
"Nein . . . his hair." Shadowlion grinned evilly. "And just so you know, it was Mortimer's idea to bind his wings."  
  
"Good. Mortimer, I'm sorry for not trusting you before. Whatever I had against you, it's gone." Anton whistled sharply, and another teleporter, this one with calico blue and white skin and red hair, 'ported up behind DeSoto with a length of rope in his hands. "Aryan, bind his wings and throw him in Matrix's lab. Tell Matrix that as DeSoto's punishment, Shadowlion chose to have him work with Matrix."  
  
"Are you sure this won't be a punishment for poor ol' Matrix?" Aryan asked. Aryan hated DeSoto even more than his father, Anton, did.  
  
"Just do it, Aryan," snapped Anton. Aryan didn't hesitate again. He dragged DeSoto off to a dark corner of the throne room to tie his wings up.  
  
By now, Panthera had slunk around the room and come up beside Remy without anyone noticing. She put her arms around his waist and looked up into his red and black eyes. When he looked into hers, he noticed a sadness and worry.  
  
"I have some bad news," Anton said into the silence, stepping down from the with the Soul-Reaver Pike in his hand. "And we have a mission to New York."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Wow. That was long. Sorry, I just had to put Gambit in there.  
  
Alrighty then . . . review please! 


	3. Long Time Gone

Hehe . . . reviews!  
  
Blue Dragon Git: I'm glad you like all my characters. I tend to work harder on them than is needed. And you think Anton's creepy? That wasn't what I was going for. I was going for tragically hopeless and angry. Creepy works, though! I will definitely read your story as soon as I get the chance.  
  
Italia12: Sorry if it's so confusing, but have ~you~ ever read a Stephen King book? ~That's~ confusing. The story might be confusing to you, but it isn't to me, and that's because that's how I write. It would get even more confusing if I tried to change how I write. And besides, a few of these characters don't even have a logical part in the story: in other words: they're just names I use to make it more believable. Like DeSoto: he won't have any more ~major~ parts in the story, and neither does DeLito or Pegasus. Although, for every three I take away, I add one: Matrix will have a bigger part in the story. Sort of. Again, I'm sorry it's confusing. I never meant for it to be. And I'm sorry that I can't change that. Believe me: I've read ~way~ more confusing stories on this site (mostly because they're poorly written, but I'm not going to point any fingers).  
  
Well, that was fun. And ironic. Italia wants it less confusing, and I give a confusing response. Oh yeah. I'm smart.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"You're sure we should interfere?" Beauregard asked for the fourth time in the past half hour. Anton didn't bother to stop and answer him for the fourth time, though.  
  
"No, he's not sure," said Panthera, "that's why he's not answering you anymore."  
  
"Exactly," Anton murmured, almost to himself. He had yet to tell everyone to go back to the Underground, or Shadowlion's house, whichever, and pack half their useless crud piled up in their rooms. That was Anton: bring the excess, because everything is unexpected. Everyone seemed to agree that he had lost what little remained of his sane mind in the past few years, and probably from keeping himself shut up in that mansion of his. But they trusted him, for some odd reason. "I'm sorry, Shadowlion, but DeSoto's complete punishment will have to wait until we return. Matrix will, of course, be coming with us to New York. Aryan can't come, so we need some sort of technician to work on the jets should anything happen to them. I want you and Matrix to assemble a team of your choice. Six people, not including yourselves. Anybody that's not younger than you."  
  
"Lovely," retorted Shadowlion. "You want Matrix and me to lead a team of mutants all older than us?"  
  
"Nein." Anton pushed aside a wall panel to reveal a small, dome-shaped room. The walls were made of a type of granite that must've been polished at least three times a day; Shadowlion could see her reflection in the stone. In the center of the room was a titanium-steel alloy pedestal bolted to the floor with a diamond case on top of it. Inside the case was a small gold ring with hieroglyphs etched around the outside and inside. Anton slowly removed the diamond cover and removed the ring, and then replaced the cover.  
  
"The Anubis Ring?" Panthera exclaimed. "Anton, are you mad?"  
  
"There's a girl in New York that will find this useful." He pushed Panthera back out of the room. "Shadowlion, I will be leading the team."  
  
Shadowlion was about to protest as Anton walked by her, but decided it safer to stay quiet. Anton didn't necessarily scare her; she'd known him for too long to be afraid of him, and she knew that he really wasn't mean . . . just lonely and lost. He hadn't smiled in such a long time. The last time she'd ever seen him even remotely happy was on one of their first missions - before the Ellis Island incident - when, in Hamunaptra, in Egypt, her team had recovered the Soul-Reaver Pike from Anubis' temple. Anton had wanted it out of reach of thieves, so he kept it. But, after nearly a year of carrying the Pike, its power was beginning to take a toll on him. He wasn't as quick-witted as he used to be, and doing much of anything seemed to cause him pain. Shadowlion wanted more than anything for Anton to give up that Pike to his son, or to somebody else. Wanted him to take it back to Egypt and return it to his brother, who could look after it properly. But Anton would never . . . he claimed he couldn't trust anyone.  
  
Luckily, after about a month of pushing buttons and annoying the hell out of Anton over the whole issue, he named the next bearer of the Pike: a son of his that no one but he and Aryan and Sabine had heard of, that was last heard of at the start of the Alkali Lake ordeal, when reports of a mutant assassin filtered into the Underground's poor connections with the outside world.  
  
"Him?" Shadowlion had asked, confused and a bit lost. "But he's a wanted criminal now! He tried to freakin' kill the president, you arse! Do you really think it all that smart to give him something as dangerous as the Soul-Reaver Pike?"  
  
"He's ~not~ dangerous, Dämon," consoled Anton. "That wasn't him. Well, it was, but . . . somebody had been messing with his mind. I know he would never do anything like that of his own free will!"  
  
"I don't trust you, Anton . . . not on this. But, I'll pretend I do."  
  
So every artifact they had rightfully stolen from Hamunaptra was being taken with them to New York to be given up, and put in a place where they wouldn't be of any danger. At least, so Shadowlion hoped. But she also had the knawing feeling that Anton would go back on his word and keep the Pike.  
  
"I've got a rotten feeling about this, Beau," she whispered.  
  
"Yeah, I know what you're sayin'. So do I."  
  
^_^ Westchester, New York ^_^  
  
There was an old mansion, not far from Xavier's school, that had been abandoned for several years. It was rumored to be haunted, but it wasn't like anybody really believed that. It was mostly a joke some of Xavier's older students played on the younger students. Like today. And this time, Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty were the ones dragging some hapless little sixth grader to the mansion. He was a kid named Jones; nobody, not even Jones himself, used his first name.  
  
As the four students approached the front gates of the estate, which was flanked by two winged foxes on pedestals, and bore a silver plate reading "Fuchs Norden", the loud wailing sound of a fiddle carried across the "deserted" grounds.  
  
"Ah thought this place was abandoned," Rogue said.  
  
"That's what everyone else said," replied Bobby.  
  
Above the fiddle, and now a guitar and what sounded like a banjo, a young voice sang a more than familiar song.  
  
"My daddy sits on the front porch swingin' / Lookin' out on a vacant field / Used to be filled with burly tobacco / Now he knows it never will . . ."  
  
"What's that?" Jones looked up at Rogue.  
  
"It sounds like . . . Dixie Chicks! This place ~isn't~ abandoned!"  
  
The song continued on, and the giant iron gates opened up silently and slowly.  
  
"Momma's still cookin' too much for supper / And me I've been a longtime gone / Been a longtime gone / No I ain't hoed a row since I don't know when / Longtime gone . . ."  
  
"Looks like an invitation to me," said Bobby, walking through the gates. Jones, not wanting to be left alone with two girls, ran after Bobby. Rogue had to practically pull Kitty in, and the gates closed behind them, of their own accord. They went further and further into the estate, following a worn, cobblestone path. When the giant, plantation-style house came into view, so did a group of people sitting on a picnic bench.  
  
A young man who looked a lot like a slightly older version of Kurt, minus the scars and whose skin faded into white on his hands, feet, tail, and down his neck, with one spot around his eye, and dark metallic red hair sat at the closest end. He played a guitar that was forest green with silver Chinese dragons painted beside the strings.  
  
Beside him, lying stretched out like a lion, was a girl a few years older than Jones. Her once blonde hair was cut so short it was a tawny color instead. She wore lion-paw "gloves"-if they could be called that-and her black lion tail waved patiently back and forth. She was the one whom they had heard singing.  
  
"She always thought that we'd be together / Lord I never meant to do her harm / Said she could hear me singin' in the choir / Me I heard another song / I caught wind and hit the road runnin' / And Lord I been a longtime gone . . ."  
  
The "backup singer", who also played the banjo, was a woman who (eerily) resembled Mystique, with long platinum blonde hair pulled back into a tight braid.  
  
On the banjo player's other side was a young man who looked to be about in his early- to mid-twenties. He looked kind enough, but frightened the Xavier students, and they paused when they looked at him, considering whether it was a good idea to continue or not. Although he seemed friendly, he strongly reminded Rogue of all the pictures she had seen of Adolf Hitler, whom the boy looked nearly identical to, minus the (laughable?) mustache. His big, dark eyes passed over every one of the Xavier students, sending a slight shiver up their spines. He returned to playing his fiddle after a moment, and paid the students no more attention.  
  
Sitting next to the fiddler, with his back turned to everybody else, was another young man about the fiddler's age, and who, funnily enough, looked like a younger, smoother-skinned Logan, with shockingly white bangs.  
  
"Lord I ain't had a prayer since I don't know when / Longtime gone / And it ain't comin' back again / Now me I went to Nashville / Tryin' to be the big deal / Playin' down on Broadway / Getting' there the hard way / Livin' from a tip jar / Sleepin' in my car / Hockin' my guitar / Yeah I'm gonna be a sta-a-ar / Now me and Delia singin' every Sunday / Watchin' the children and the garden grow / We listen to the radio to hear what's cookin' / But the music ain't got no soul . . ."  
  
The man beside the fiddler motioned for Rogue, Bobby, Jones, and Kitty to sit on a picnic table perpendicular to the one he and his companions sat on. As the four passed the fiddler, he looked up at them-at Rogue-and followed her with his manic gaze. There was a creepy, quiet insanity behind those black eyes; there was no doubting that. But, his expression was more that of curiosity than anger or insanity. Rogue tried to sit as far from him as possible. But, that of course, meant she was directly in his line of sight.  
  
As the song came to the end the fiddler averted his gaze. The performers received a small applause from their audience.  
  
"Are ya'll in a band?" Rogue asked the lead singer.  
  
"Naw. We just have nothin' else t' do." She sat up and curled her tail about her "paws" and said abruptly, "My name's Lynx Gunning. Ever'body calls me either Dämon or Shadowlion, though." She sharply nudged the guitarist.  
  
"Huh? Oh. I'm Aryan Wagoner, and that's my sister-" Aryan pointed to the banjo player "-Sabine."  
  
"Beauregard Raven," muttered the boy beside the fiddler.  
  
The fiddler himself offered his hand to Bobby to shake, although Bobby noticeably leaned back. The fiddler didn't seem disappointed. "S'alright. I get that a lot. I'm Sabine's son, Peregrine Matthias Hitler."  
  
Rogue breathed in sharply. "Did you just say your name was Hitler?" Kitty hissed.  
  
Matthias laughed. "Yeah, and you're probably wanting to kill me right about now. That or run home." He suddenly changed the subject. "You're all from that Xavier place, right? Here in Westchester?"  
  
"Yeah, and? What's it mean to you?" snapped Bobby.  
  
Matthias stood up and held his hands up as if to say, "I surrender". He picked up his fiddle and headed towards the mansion. "Okay, I get the hint. I'll leave. But you'll be seeing a lot more of me if you're one of the X- Men."  
  
Nobody talked until Matthias was out of hearing range. "He tries so hard to get people to believe he's nothing like his father. He really is a good person, even if his father wasn't," Sabine said ruefully.  
  
"So he's one of the ancients that Professor Xavier's told us about?"  
  
"Hardly. He's an immortal, like all those descended from my father, Anton Wagoner. He's over two thousand years old. But, Matthias is barely over sixty years old."  
  
"Is he a mutant?" Kitty asked.  
  
"Surprisingly, yes! Even though Addy was a human. We can't explain it." Sabine's eyes darted up towards the mansion, and everyone turned to see Matthias coming back out, holding something that glinted gold in the sunlight. "Did your grandfather give you that rotted ring, Matt?"  
  
Matthias walked on past Rogue, tossing the small gold ring down onto the table next to her. He stopped and turned around to look at her. "It's a 'present' from my grandfather. You're the untouchable mutant, right? That ring will help you. You'll be able to touch people without hurting them, as long as you wear that."  
  
"How did your grandfather know-"  
  
"He scares me sometimes. I honestly don't know how he knows about you. He never tells ~me~ anything. I mentioned every one of you, and he gave me that ring and told me to give it to 'the girl with the southern accent'. I only know what it does; I can't tell you how it does it. It's not dangerous, though, unless you live in Indiana."  
  
Rogue decided it best not to ask why; she didn't think Matthias the patient type.  
  
"You'd best go back now, and don't tell anyone but Xavier that you met us."  
  
Bobby jumped up and marched straight for the front gate, keeping a wide berth between him and Matthias. Jones didn't seem to care, and Kitty was incredibly jumpy. Rogue, not wanting Matthias to think she wasn't thankful for the ring, brushed past him, with a severely jealous look from Bobby.  
  
"I don't think your boyfriend likes me," Matthias whispered.  
  
"He wouldn't," Rogue whispered back.  
  
"Wait. What's your name?"  
  
Rogue stopped and glanced back at Matthias before turning to fully face him. "Marie." She ran off before she could be drawn into Matthias' deep, dark eyes, and she refused to look back. When she caught up with Kitty, she said quietly, so Bobby and Jones couldn't hear, "There's somethin' about him."  
  
"Yeah! He's a complete lunatic! Did you see the way he stared at you?"  
  
"You think Ah didn't!? Ah know he's creepy and scary and insane! Ah fully understand he's Hitler's son! Ah'm not stupid, Kitty! But, his eyes . . . they're just . . . hypnotic-Ah can't find another way to describe them."  
  
"You've totally lost it."  
  
"If Ah see him just one more time, Ah'm afraid Ah will have! The way he looks at me . . . it drives me crazy. And Ah don't mean he makes me mad!"  
  
"I think I'll . . . stop talking to you . . . now," Kitty murmured, edging away from Rogue.  
  
"Kitty!"  
  
^_^ Xavier's School; After Sundown ^_^  
  
"Everyone-Everyone, please be quiet!" Xavier had been trying for five minutes now just to get the students to stay silent. Finally, they decided to listen and shut up, much to Xavier's surprise. "All right, now that you're all finally listening to me, I think you have the right to know why you are all here." He glanced about at the group of a little more than a hundred kids all crammed into the front foyer. "As you may have heard on the news, Auschwitz-Birkenau, in Poland, has been . . . reopened. And this time, a group of people known as the 'Mutant Hunters' is imprisoning mutants. There are thousands of followers in this group-or cult rather, and the X-Men alone are in no way capable of fighting them, even with Magneto's help."  
  
"Why aren't we dealing with this politically, like before?"  
  
"Because that doesn't work with the Hunters. And they have full permission to imprison 'dangerous' mutants. But, in the course of 'purging the world of law-breaking mutants', they have imprisoned dozens upon dozens of innocent mutants.  
  
"And so, we have requested the help of a Midwest-based organization known as the Bellevue Wildcats. They are similar to the X-Men, although they practically command an army's worth of mutants. They are led by the man who commanded Auschwitz during World War Two. He and his family-his daughter, son, and grandson-~are~ Nazis, but I ask that you treat them with respect. They have come out of isolation to help us, something I hardly expected of the Wildcats."  
  
"You want us to trust a bunch of Nazis?!"  
  
Jones, Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue fidgeted nervously, and when the doorbell rang, Kitty practically phased herself through the wall she was leaning against. Xavier glanced at the door and it opened on its own.  
  
"Matthias . . ." Rogue whispered, receiving a reproving glare from Kitty.  
  
Actually, Matthias was pretty much hidden from view. Standing in front of him was Lynx, and beside her must have been Anton. A few of the students murmered "ghost" as Anton led his little group in at Xavier's invitation. An odd-looking German shepherd dog marched in beside Matthias, its nose pointed up and a haughty glint in its dark eyes.  
  
"Anton, are you still wearing that old uniform?" Xavier asked, smiling.  
  
"And why not?" Anton sneered, his lips pulled back in an evil grin, showing elongated canines. He happened to look up behind Xavier at Ororo, who was staring at him. The smile faded for a moment, then reappeared, this time seemingly more seductive than evil. Ororo nervously turned back to face the students.  
  
"Alright, everyone, this is Commander Anton Wagoner," said Xavier. He nodded towards Lynx. "This is Commander Lynx Gunning, field commander for the Bellevue Wildcats. Aryan Wagoner-" Xavier motioned to Aryan, who absently pulled his sunglasses off, gaining a laugh from the students "- Anton's son. Beauregard Raven and his mother, Lt. Commander Panthera Raven. A few of you may recognize Mortimer Toynbee--I'm quite surprised to see you still alive, Toad." Mortimer glared at Xavier. "And finally, Anton's grandson, Peregrine Matthias Hitler."  
  
Gasps and whispers filled the room, but Matthias ignored them. He was looking for Rogue, and could care less what other people thought of him.  
  
"Quiet! Remember what I told you--"  
  
"S'alright, Professor," Matthias said. "I'm used to it."  
  
"Of course," replied Xavier. Then, to the students, "These are the leaders of the Bellevue Wildcats, who will be assisting the X-Men in the liberation of the mutants at Auschwitz-Birkenau."  
  
Everyone was silent; nobody knew what to say.  
  
"Well, you certainly are a show-stopper, Pippin," Lynx sneered at Matthias.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
:cough:Pippin:cough: I just had to do that. 


End file.
